A Cinderella and A Stranger
by NeverlandSpirit
Summary: It's not often when the two assassins can be themelves, but when given the oppurtunity he would always be her Stanger and he would forever regard her as his Cinderella.


**A Cinderella and A Stranger **

They were on the festive kissed part of Argentina. The sun was about to caress the horizon and nightfall was inevitable, so was the night life. The streets were bright with pixie lights donning the walls of all the building and couples danced on the streets, passing cheap bottles of rum around. She was the lonely red haired girl, occupying a corner and gently swaying to the music all by herself. He was the mysterious man, that passed genuine smiles around and gently declining the alcohol offered to him.

And then their eyes locked upon the other.

She playfully gave him a smile and turned her head away from him, glancing back every now and then to check him out. While he smirked behind his cup of cold coffee every time she did that. The breeze was gentle enough to lightly whip her hair around without actually messing it up. It was perfect.

Another song ended, giving way for the beginning of another and the merriment picked up once again. None of them made any approach to introduce themselves but secretly enjoyed the burning intrigue and anticipation. She threw him one last glace before slowly walking into the center of the dancing crowd. It was a sort of invitation on her part and she desperately hoped that he got the hint. The tempo of the song picked up and she was lost among the crowd of the twirling mass. She followed suit and spun herself a couple of times, completely losing her sight of what was right and what was left. The tempo dropped and she allowed herself to stop. She did stop-but only to come face to face with the mysterious guy. 'So he did get the hint.' Is all she could manage to think before he flashed her, a dazzling smile.

"Care to dance with me?" he asks in perfect Spanish.

"I thought you'd never ask" she replies in the same language.

He places a hand on her lower back while the other firmly grasps her dainty hands. She in response places her hand on his shoulder. The song she was previously twirling to have since ended and the speakers buzzed for a while before the next fluent Spanish song played. It was the song that was closely related to tango, only closer in pace. So adapting to the code of conduct of it being some sort of a tango, he pulled her closer against him. She didn't mind in the least.

They sway perfectly in sync despite hardly knowing each other-really they don't even know each-others name? But the obvious chemistry went unnoticed them. It was mainly because she was consumed by thoughts of his perfectly chiseled muscles while he has brimming with similar thoughts.

He smoothly spins her away from him before pulling her back all the same, her black dress playing in perfect ripples. She lets herself be pulled back and runs her calves against his for the next move. To be slightly honest she was expecting the man to be slightly dazed by this bold action of her, if not completely melt in her arms. But this man hardly even slipped. She was surprised and greatly impressed.

"You are way too pretty to be here alone." He says. It should have been taken as a compliment but the red head knew her men.

It was a question, inquiring about her whereabouts. "I have been told."

His smirk only grows wider as he dips her, staying absolutely still for her minute and finally pulling her back up. She is grinning right back at him, blowing a heavy puff of hot air against his neck as she was being pulled up. Her lipstick leaves a light stain on the white collar of his shirt.

"You are way too toned to be a normal guy." She plays his cards back at him.

"I have been told"

The world didn't exist up to this point both strangers lost in their own realm. And they could have continued dancing forever. It could have gone on and on and on had it not been for the cheer of the gatherings as yet another song came to an end. Funny how they weren't even dancing to the beat?

"I am parched-join me for a drink?" she asks, schooling her giddy amusement as the mob cheered for them.

"Sure." He agrees.

They walk back towards the end of the streets where the good stuff was stored and ordered a bottle of decent whiskey. It was the best in the place but the red head begged to differ. She noticed him agreeing with her once again.

"I was told Argentina was great to have a little fun but if this dancing was all about the fun then I am a little disappointed." She says and takes another sip from the bottle. "You know they said something about having great men who knew their stuff and the likes. But turns out they lied."

And he knows what exactly she means. He knows it really well. So he bends down next to her, whipping some hair out of her face and drawing his face close to her ear. He whispers-whispers things that put the gleam of excitement in her eye and then backs off. Her smile was a far cry from innocent.

"Oh but why should I have all the fun?" she says naively and pulls him down to return the favor. Her voice was the sweetest nectar of sexiness as she continued whispering profane fantasies to him until his eyes were about as dilated as her own.

She pulls out some crumpled notes from her purse and stashes them on the table before walking out of the store. She didn't even turn back to give him one last glimpse and promptly disappeared into the night.

His head remained bowed from when she had whispered fantasies in his ear. He felt her pull out cash from her purse, felt her bang it on the table and knew was leaving but didn't offer her a last smile, nor glimpse.

He walks out from the store a short while later, also vanishing into the horizon.

Somewhere in the five star hotel of Argentina, the same red head stood under the warm spray of the shower. Her head resting on the tiled wall as her hand moved south, pinching her aching private region and something tightly coiled within her. Her eyes stayed shut as pictures of that blonde mystery man flashed in her mind, her face scrunching up as the need to explore her further was fuelled. Soon enough she started quivering with satisfaction, his face yet dancing in her vision and she moaned deliciously. She might have screamed but for the hell of it she didn't know his name. She breathed heavily for a while before determining her next mission-find out that man's name. Just thinking about him, made her wild and the need to touch herself was back with vengeance.

Once she had thoroughly satisfied her inner needs, she stepped out of the shower and changed into the leather uniform of hers. She sat in front of the dressing table and recalled upon herself. "I am Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. I am here to meet a client." She repeated this for a couple more times and then moved on to her next phrase. "Today was just a day off. What happened with that man was completely irrelevant now. That is not who I am." She takes in a deep breath, closes her eyes and repeats one final time before she hears a knock on the door. "I am Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow."

In the cheap motel, three miles away from the Amazon River sat a man known as Clint Barton. He was occupying the dirty spring mattress of the room, while is accomplice, Phil Coulson was finishing the mission report.

Clint sat heavily on the bed, shoulders hunched while furiously rubbing a hand over his face. He contemplated on telling his handler about it but then what would we exactly say?

"Well you look frustrated." Phil said not even looking up from the paper he was written on. He simply continued to scribble down with practiced ease.

Clint grunted, muttering that his handler knew him too well for his liking. It was unnerving and uncomfortable. He can't hide anything from this man. "Not now, Phil." He grunts again.

"I did ask in the first place."

And that's how the conversation is cut off.

Well matters were at rest for the next hour and a half and then Clint knew it was probably too much to handle. He needed to get this off of is chest. "I met a girl today."

Phil doesn't even look amused, he simply raises an eyebrow, questioning him further.

"Yeah women tend to frustrate any one."

"No, no I mean she was-she was-God damn it I don't even know her name." he almost yells getting up from the bed to pace around the small room, they were stuck in until extraction.

"That's it? It frustrates you not to know her name?" Phil asks incredulously. He is kind of surprised because Clint had met many women over the years. He simply asks them for a drink or a dance or whatever they are doing. He never asks them their names and never tells them his. He doesn't like to have any strings attached and names lead to attachment. So, what's different about this girl?

"No, you don't understand. She is-she is a –mystery" he fumbles trying to get the right word. And it's all clear now, she was a challenge. He often was the challenge and the mystery to other girls. But now that this red haired played his part of the night, he is on the edge.

"So she is Cinderella?"

Clint's eyes go wide at that. He shakes his head from side to side, trying to determine if he heard that right and then finally accepts. "Yeah she is Cinderella."

"Well extractions not for another four hours, so maybe you can sleep and dream about being her." Phil snickers and continues to write.

Clint gives him a serious look and plops down on the bed nonetheless. He places a hand under the pillow willing him to doze off and silently wishes he never met Cinderella because it would be hard for him to forget her. Now he was roam all around with a glass slipper asking about her name. Sleep wasn't easy then.

The mission in question was an apple pie. Get in, observe the mark, get Intel and take him down. The mission had been so easy in fact that Clint had finished it a day before the deadline and as a celebration wandered off to the festive part of Argentina. The part he met her.

Back in a five star hotel, a certain Andre Astana, knocked the door to the room, the Black Widow was supposedly residing. Two quick successive knocks later she opens the door and in all honesty she is truly the beauty everyone claims her to be but her reputation to kill would always succeed her.

"Come in." she gestures and sits down gracefully in one of the chairs provided.

"What's your proposal Mr. Astana?"

The man in question hesitates before walking in. Once completely in, he carefully shuts the door behind him, but not before reconfirming that his guards were faithfully posted out the door in case any accidents should occur on the Widow's behalf. He clears his throat as she questions and then replies.

"Well, Widow. I want you to infiltrate my brother's company and get me the details of his next project before ending him. It's simple really but I am willing to offer to any amount of money you desire."

The deal was sealed for half a million and the Widow pushed whatever memory she had of the man to the back of her mind, soon to be forgotten forever.

TWO YEARS LATER.

The mysterious man was just a figment of her mind that was just two missions away from fading for good. One she had accepted Mr. Astana's mission she had pushed all her exciting thoughts away and it stayed that way up until now.

But there nights were she was completely bare, emotionally and physically and she thought if she could ever again meet him, though these nights were rare. His face was now a blur to her, his grey eyes the only physical thing she remembered about him. Sadly the same could not be said about his personality because she remembered his talks and thoughts pretty well. It was what attracted her and she was trapped.

In her field there were many men that could easily be classified as a Calvin Klein model and that mysterious man in Argentina was close to one of them. Close, Natasha has met better, physically speaking. When it came down to the emotional and mental side of things then the man clearly took home the trophy. No stranger, fellow hit man or thief ever compared to his character.

She has to admit that man had class, attitude, charm and everything others didn't.

And yet he would always remain a nameless stranger she never quite completely forgot. But almost did.

That's what strangers are right? They are forgotten.

Clint Barton just returned to base after another one of his post mission leave to find Coulson sitting in his room.

"So you found Cinderella yet?" Phil asks him all too innocently.

It's an ongoing joke between them, well actually just between Phil on Clint's expense. Every time Clint placed a foot outside the base and return Phil would ask him the same question and would receive the same mock laugh as his reply. No, he didn't find Cinderella yet.

It's been two years since he met the red head and he hasn't managed to forget her yet. He pushed her back whenever a mission arrives but she bounces back in when the mission is done. Now she is just a fading riddle in his mind. And it is because that she is riddle that he hasn't forgotten about her.

It bothers him, not knowing her name.

Clint may be a patient man but not finding the answer to any question; riddle or puzzle in any form annoys him and drives him with determination on a journey to find it. Some days when sleep isn't easy he stares at the ceiling of his room and pretends what Cinderella's actual name may be.

'Maybe it would be Anne.' He thought one day. 'No. it's too common.'

Sophia, Francesca, Mehreen, Swati, Noora, he thinks of all the names from all the ethnic backgrounds but none of them feels right. Eventually he gives up and settles for Cinderella.

Maybe she will remain Cinderella forever and he would be left with a fading memory and Coulson's mock.

"Hey Kiddo." Phil greets as he enters the agents quarters the next day. "You have been assigned to a new mission. Meet us in conference room 5 in about 15 minutes okay?"

Clint merely nods and sends another dart right in the center of the dartboard.

15 minutes later Clint sits in one of the many chairs in Conference Room 5 which is also occupied by Director Fury, Hill and his handler Coulson. The whole process is nothing new. The director often introduces the mission to agents with Clearance Level 7. And Barton was one of them.

"You mission Agent Barton, is to track down the Black Widow and assassinate her." He slips a manila folder across the table towards Clint. "Her whereabouts are currently in Austria, but she is known to switch places over a fortnight. She has recently killed the chief minister of India and also the CEO of South United Weapon Industry (SUWI). She is a clear threat to SHIELD as we closely operate with SUWI and to the world as whole. You have two days to track her before you have to take her down." He gives Coulson a small nod before talking off towards the door with Agent Hill in pursuit.

"Also Agent Barton good luck." He says and walks out.

"Well that was interesting." Clint says just as the door shuts behind the Director.

"Well this is a though mission. The Widow is dangerous, no one knew her whereabouts for two years, and the photo in the file is the only one we have of hers. No one snaps a photo of her and lives. The guy who did this must have been very lucky." Coulson says truthfully with a hint of concern for his Agent.

Clint processes what Phil said and opens the file with sheer curiosity.

His breath hitches in his throat, jaw drops open and mind is just too flabbergasted.

"Cinderella." He breathes out.

Funny how he is supposed to kill the girl that haunted him for two whole years.

Even funnier was the sheer disbelief in Cinderella's eyes when he stood facing her with an arrow trained to her, her gun trained on him before their eyes met.

"Stranger." She whispered almost similarly as he did three weeks ago when he opened the manila folder.

Years later maybe they will be Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff or even simply Clint and Natasha.

But when they roll over each other in a mess of limbs and sweat she would always whisper 'Stranger in his ear and he would always regard her as his Cinderella.

They would forever remain each-others Cinderella and Stanger.

**AN: Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed this. Review?**


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